I said goodbye to my beloved orange cat, Teddy, this past weekend. He was diagnosed last month, at 16.5 years of age, with advanced-stage pancreatic cancer. Although his days were numbered, Andrew and I committed ourselves to making each one as comfortable and comforting as possible for him.
I spent long stretches of time sitting on the floor with Teddy, encouraging him to eat. Chicken, salmon, tuna--our hallway was a buffet of small, stinky plates that mostly sat untouched. I quietly cheered him on when he ate and quietly cleaned up the carpet when those few bites didn't agree with him.
Day 33 post-diagnosis was a turning point. Teddy's belly gurgled nonstop, his eyes lacked sparkle, his personality no longer there. Andrew had "the talk" with me, but I knew it all already. Our vet appointment was scheduled for Saturday afternoon.
Somewhere in the midst of bargaining and acceptance came an unrelated bit of good news: Andrew had landed a job--a good job--after nine long months of being without. During that long stretch of time, splurges and niceties went to the wayside. Bills became a challenge and our home became our haven. Included in that haven was an abundance of companionship and a new-found love of simple pleasures. Teddy and Andrew gave one another the gift of time.
Day 38. Saturday. Teddy perched upon my chest as we laid in bed that final morning, his paws at the very edge of the blanket; the blanket tucked up to my chin. His weight was just a wisp of what it used to be. I ate my breakfast while sitting on the bedroom floor that day, inches from the sunbeam that enveloped Teddy. I stroked his fur, kissed his little head, and recounted to him the names of everybody who loved him. But most especially me.
_________________________________________________________________________ © 2009 Good Karma Housekeeping. Making the space--mentally and physically--to live happily ever after. Even when it's hard to let go.
